Silence or Lies
by Sonsasu the Gray Daiconi
Summary: Returned to society with an erased past, a woman’s life has become a spinning coin teetering on its edge. With the reappearance of several deadly figures from a dim memory, are they here for grisly trophies, or something more? Read FFN profile.


**Silence or Lies**

**By, Sonsasu**

**Chapter One**

"**Delicate Illusions"**

* * *

Insanity is a critical fracture within the mind, a sometimes-permanent disorder disturbing rational reasoning.

A diagnosis often deduced in the face of a screaming host to terror declaiming wildly over the abnormal destruction to a city.

Several years ago, on a morning bathed in frost and snow, these signs picked from a window, I awoke to a domain of unimaginative white walls. Confusion lasted only long enough before common sense realized the stark differences. The hospital had shipped off its most recent patient elsewhere.

Strapped in a medical bed that offered naught but the space to breathe, the pounding within my head suggested something of a chemical nature. It had felt heavy when lifted, and sluggish to move. The disjunction steadily eased beyond simple bafflement, and then onto genuine pain at the attempt for recollecting memory.

There was…not much to process back then, aside from blurring discomfort and a scratchy throat.

Yet unfocused eyes in dimmed light found company. Two contrasting physicians, a tall, dark skinned man, whose lined face sat hooded under a cheerless frown, and a short, pale woman, somber and grim, stood behind a third, observing me from the foot of the bed. Bound circumstances made fear worse, from what hesitant views on uncertain clues whisper if I consider things, marking introductions as the last concern for that day.

The willowy third greeted me with an idle glance from the clipboard held in his hand. Questions, of course, spilled out of a restless mouth, and while quite a few issued forth, none allowed direct answers except for one.

"What'm I doing here?"

This had lead to several separate responses from each, but shattered memory sections hold only three.

I was there in that little bed due to a very particular report. As for the reason, they needed to seal the break dividing my mental state to reconstruct the trauma's severe damage. Nothing from that statement exists but a blank area with a voice, just a lost fragment from that place. This type of suffering would take time to erase, the head of the asylum, Doctor Alder, had said, a strange smile and glinting eyes making his complexion appear less than welcoming.

My grip on reality was faulty, deluded by contorting the perceptions of realism with extreme misconceptions, another spoke up, Doctor Jane Milliner, the harshly uninviting woman. Her appearance, as if internally angry at herself, and in the way she explained, gave an impression she did not desire to spew out the bile she doled. I was broken, a detached individual from the throng of proper society, Doctor Gorge Dutch concluded; face never wavering from his scowl.

Core ensnared in a dense molasses of dread, I struggled to tear free of the bindings. The first stab, one of many to come, of cold metal pierced the exposed flesh of an arm bent in a straining arch from where it rose at my side.

On that very same morning, no more time having passed than ten minutes, terror grew stagnate under the creeping influence of muscles falling slack. Their drug overtook its victim's defenses, seizing panic and stifling it silently. Lungs once ushered into a mad frenzy slowed, taking with them the light of vision. Sleep descended on an unwilling patron, and a single thread of my former-self drifted upward to the surface.

Broken, damaged, and faulty as I was, I knew exactly what had happened in the now ruined city, Gray Vein of second Earth, Sol Seven.

The world sank toward a rip tide of darkness, my outer body melting under the drug's influence, and those thoughts scattering with the next unnaturally calmed sigh.

For two grueling years, I lamented under the carefully watching stares and critical hands of mental health caregivers. Within the third year, the fire of defiance to keep knowledge flickered and guttered out. Unyielding, intensive therapies, physical, mental, and drug related, did not allow fight to linger. Submission helped slowly pry the honeycombed layers of a weary mind away, eventually granting the violators the tools to reshaping the tunnels to their liking. In time, the corrections and all those comments sounded right, more so for assisting the blind to see such errors of judgment.

Aliens didn't exist, and certainly had no claim over a young woman's life.

After all, reckless behavior had put a gunshot wound in my shoulder, not some agent firing a gun to stop me; and those furrow scars on my left shoulder, did not belong to the curved talons of some otherworldly monster fighting to inflict death.

The mere thought was so…absurd.

Another year passed, and with defective memories repressed, constricted by chains of renewed logic, and a new outlook on life, I was free to rejoin the surging currents of the normal public. On my first day out, the sun had deprived all sight, and the outside was a living mass of sound and motion as compared to the almost silent and still womb of the asylum.

Freedom seemed unreal that afternoon, the scabs of turbulent emotion paled as I walked over to a Murtch tree and lay down under it onto the bright green grass. I might have remained longer, fearing as if my liberation were to slip away the moment I went further from the mental institute. A hovercar pulled in on the road beyond where I lay, driving to hum over a few feet from the tree. It was another show of granted exemption, a boon for the directionless. In kindness and consideration to my plight of loss, the government had provided transportation to a new home in Pearl's Choir, the dwelling set in the small township on the more peaceful outskirts of the gigantic ocean city.

While in the backseat of that black hovercar, the humid, hot summer day not a bother in the cool atmosphere of air conditioner, I had felt cheerless lips pull upward in a real smile, the only one in four years. No longer did thoughts of humanoid extra terrestrials haunt and trouble me, no, only the typical concerns of life needed attention, and as told, it was normal for a twenty-three year old, natural. After two months alone, enjoying the liberties of freedom and surprisingly a curious job, I learned to nurse the worry for a dire anticipation of nightfall.

Regrettably, not even the best of their efforts had succeeded in repressing everything.

The inhibited cache of ingrained recollections took on the guise of dreams, refusing to sever rusted iron moorings and let go, even with the prescribed medications taken during the evening hours. Twisting against current life as deprived shadows of memory, the contents of each made shivers, sweat, cries, and all that lay buried in a troubled subconscious, resurface, if just to flutter from a shaking grasp once awareness flooded again to find my form snarled in bed coverings from tossing and turning.

Time and numerous appearances allotted a grudging acceptance in the end.

The less abrasive nightmares, when not involving shiny black serpents in eyeless pursuit, revolved around the distant, obscured image of a foreign face. Harsh and dissimilar to the modeling of a human, it was odd to see the notable differences clearly. However, this unpleasant quality did not dominate the interactions occurring when loitering in the realm of dreaming.

The scenes replayed like a bad, skipping holo-vid.

Clumsy attempts of speaking in a language that my mind decoded as growls, clicks, and hand signals seemed common. Next to a repeating setting of trembling hands applying Aesculapian foam to seal bleeding wounds seeping neon green. The oddest was of a soldier resting against a broad shoulder, one that made a pang of regret echo loudly. It went on to other multiple, uneasy events as the flickering representation of a forgotten past reproduced copies repeatedly to a sputtering short going off from a much larger collective mass. Although, beyond my regular sleep deprivers, ebony demons instilling the loss of rationality to fear, trying to find mutual ground with human-like aliens, I generally ignored them for a deeper meaning.

They were only the tapings of a lost period of time I had no interest in reclaiming.

For instance, tonight, to erase that worry when my eyes would fall shut, I was going out on a date with Connor Drin. The Silverhelm Carnival was in Pearl's Choir this week, and we were both off from work and in need of a stress release. A happy conclusion might come later, though.

Running fingers through short, damp locks of black hair, compliments of a pair of scissors and a mirror, I juggled the idle concept of utilizing a towel rather then allowing it to dry. Feeling that little lazy urge wiggling under my skin, I decided things were fine as is. On a final glance over, I peered down at myself.

Black boots, simple blue, faded jeans and a black T-shirt with the classic Earth band initials NIN written across the left shoulder in bold white met with my searching gaze. Check, check and check again. It was incredibly difficult to locate certain music groups from so long ago, but I managed.

Lifting a foot and pulling back the loose pant leg, I wedged a finger into a compartment alongside the boot's rim where it rested against my leg. The black face of a concealed Sinweaver knife in its folded form peeked back at me. A repeat with the left revealed the other longer version of the blade. Life was a chancy affair, and I liked possessing these types of equalizers.

All set.

With no stains on my chest and no rips on my knees, that was about as fancy as I got for outings when free of business and its formal dinners. Connor, bless him, didn't insist on anything else. He had requested once after a mistake that I never wear make-up when we went out, for it always found a way onto him. Being that he was allergic to a good many products on the market tended to narrow his dislike further for face paint. Of course, I was more than happy to oblige his request.

Guilt helped too.

For the one night I had worn makeup and kissed him, the lipstick had caused his face to break out in scarlet hives that stuck around for a full week…

The low purring of a Hovercycle Griffin- an uncommon sound in this neighborhood- tilted my head for a better listen, but it was the sound of a horn in my driveway, loud and demanding in the unbroken hush of the early night, which seized my attention instantly. I drifted over to the window in my small bedroom and pulled the thick winter- I kept forgetting to replace it with summer ones- curtain aside. In the waning light, Connor's helmed head was tipped up and looking directly at where I stood. He held out a black gloved hand, several fingers curling with the suggestion to join him outside. Grin in place, I held up a forefinger.

I needed to grab my bag.

Connor shrugged, lowered said hand and leaned back in his seat; the Griffin bike's hovercores below the machine creating water-like ripples above the driveway's smooth metal pavement. I turned away, bumping a bit too hard against the edge of my futon's armrest. With the length pressed to the right side of the dark green wall, it was close to impossible to look out the window with the room being so tiny. Well, moving the bed was on my to-do list.

In my passing, I went over and pressed the off button on my black, sheet-like hologram Vis-screen touch pad, casting a wary concern toward the grim newswoman reporting a recent murder within the city. A disturbing trend with corpses turning up missing their skulls and spinal columns had begun a month ago, scaring even myself who lived a distance away from the buzzing city. Mentally shrugging, I made my exit to the front room of a petit dwelling.

Snagging the frayed strap of a jungle camouflage tote bag sitting on an equally worn looking gray couch, I cast it over my shoulder. Angled toward the door, hesitation dogged my next step. Sitting as innocently as a grenade with its pin pulled, was my D.C.C. The choice of leaving the compact behind came and went with a sigh. I snatched it off the stand beside the couch, and deposited the item into a compartment in the bag before I darted through the house and out the door.

* * *

Two hours and a half later, I was on my forearms, bracing them on a rare, wooden, paint chipped guide-rail for an old river bridge. Faint laughter animated the warm, humid air around us, with the louder sounds in the background from the carnival. "We should do this again, ya' know? I haven't had this much fun in-" I paused, not actually wanting to quote on an uncertain timeframe. "Well, too long." I finished, angling my head to look at the one behind me.

Connor nodded and pressed closer, tightening his arms coiled around my waist. "You know, I hear this coming Sunday some new restaurants are opening down at the boardwalk. Feel like going and giving them a try? We should be free from our queen bee by then."

Martha, known for a demanding business control and her manner of aggressive maneuvers to win contract bids with clients for her company, she did indeed deserve the title of Queen Bee. I hummed in my throat, pushing back against his chest as a Retniweulb feline might arch its quill covered back for fingers to drift through the hundreds of golden spines for an affectionate stroke.

"Kay."

Lips ghosted over the rim of my ear, softly dragging downward on the curve. The sensation tickled and enkindled a bloom of heat all in the same process. Wiggling, I angled toward him and met that to-die-for mouth of his. Our kiss, unfortunately, did not last. We were not the only people at the nine pm fair, nor the only ones using the bridge. Curious eyes of passerby children playing on the squeaking wood boards, snickers of teenagers lounging on the benches nearby, and annoyed huffs from adults, does tend to ease one's mood down a notch or two. Parting reluctantly, my tongue swept a path to the corner of my mouth. "You taste like wisp-candy."

This made Connor's navy blue eyes gleam in mirth. "And you taste like those pink sugar tarts. You were eating them pretty much throughout the night." In that reserved style of amusement I knew him for, he laughed using that softened quality to the sound. "Where the hell do you hide them?" His hands lightly plucked at the fabric near my hips. "I never spotted you sticking a hand in your bag, and you never wear anything with pockets."

Oh, what a naughty opportunity that was.

I rubbed my cheek against his smooth shaven one as I turned further toward the corner of his mouth, and in a hushed murmur, answered his question. "You can find out later tonight and-" The rude interruption of my D.C.C terminated the finish to what I had intended as a lewd offer.

Singing the rougher version of the bootlegged song, Reptile, by the long dead Earth band, Nine Inch Nails, generated a frustrated groan. Unable to reach my concealed back pockets, we untangling, returning our limbs to their rightful owners. I sought my left one, lifting my shirt hem to get to it, and hearing a soft, surprised 'oh' from Connor.

Now he knew where I'd hidden my sweets.

Manipulating the D.C.C to talk-mode, I put it to my ear. "Hello?" In just under a minute, my face had evolved through a verity of emotions, most related to anger. I finished listening to my sister, Sharon, grimaced, said goodbye, and hung up. Staring at the reverted, simple white surface, with only the time and day displayed in italic, black Arial writing, I considering chucking it over my head and into the narrow channel of water below.

I scowled.

Wasting a two hundred credits worth, steel blue, palm sized digital communication compact, over my sister was so fucking not worth it. Before I could so much as say a word of either apology or explanation, Connor beat me to it, more than likely hearing the distinct tone of her voice.

"I'll give you a ride to her place."

I put away my cursed D.C.C, and sighed. Blackmail by your older sibling was such a bitch. "Naw, it's all good. The tunnel here'll get me to where I need to go, thanks for the offer...and I 'will' make this disappearance up to you."

Apparently, it was his turn to frown. "No." His eyebrows lowered further. "I'd rather get you there. It's late and too far to walk anywhere downtown."

I opened my mouth, thinking to protest, and he shook his head.

"The last thing I want is to flip on the news and see the next victim being named and your face appearing plastered on the- Mmph!"

It was a dirty trick, I know, but he was rather cute whenever worried. Thus, I cut him off by fisting two hands into his white shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss, only breaking contact when my tiptoes began to ache after a few seconds. Six foot five inches to five foot five inches rarely allowed me to lip-lock with Connor unless he was bending down. Relinquishing the wadded material, I eased my fingers through his shoulder length, sand-blond hair, playing in the sheer thickness of the locks. Who could resist a guy with properly-taken-care-of long hair?

"It's okay, I used to walk downtown at midnight to head to my aunt's house when I was ten, ya' know."

How I could recall something like that, such a random memory, when a yawning chasm was missing in the chain link bridge of what I recalled, was still beyond my understanding. In addition, I had conveniently left out the fine detail of never having lived in Pearl's Choir, and the metropolis of the former subdivision Gray Vain- named for its ore mining- of Sol Seven was a modest wisp of buildings compared to this one. "No need to worry, I'll be back at home hopefully before the new day. And I'm ready if anyone comes at me."

"Not a chance." Conner murmured, pressing his lips together. "It only takes one bullet, hun, and you're gone for good the next."

While his point did carry a lovely edge of sense, I briefly shut my eyes and huffed. "Gunners who want things off victims often tend to come close, and if the one holding the piece does, I'll just hit a major artery and-"

To forestall new arguments, seeing as I would eventually lose to his stubborn determination and find myself over his shoulder, I slipped out of arm's reach and- more or less- bounded toward the opposite end of the bridge leading to the tunnel for Nirvana Park.

"Damnit, Kate! You're not going in there alone!" He snapped, fully intent to follow.

My sweet reminder of his gorgeous and possibly hotwire-ready Hovercycle sitting out in the parking lot, and the less-than-honest-looking teenagers who had eyed it with an obvious hunger, put a catch in his step. His hovercycle wasn't expensive…it was the racing parts beneath that he couldn't afford to lose. "Kate, _please_," oh, how much I knew he hated that pleading word.

"I'll be fine. Seriously, just go home, and I'll buzz ya' once I'm there. Nothin' bad's gonna happen." I regretted that ending phrase the second it left my mouth. Fate always had an ear out and the bitch was never short on ideas to prove you wrong. The smile stuck on my face, and I kept backing away as a few more demands to come back and take the offer drifted between us. Light-hearted rebuttals met all of them; it's not as if he could drive his bike through the park, not at this hour, anyway.

Soon, I left the level of easy earshot, and as semi lit darkness swallowed me, I saw Connor glaring in return to my faux grin of reassurance, his hand gripping the railing. I'd done this to him before, on account of Sharon, and even if he understood the old song and dance, knew its oncoming moves, he still balked against my seemingly irrational departures. The last one, extortion for my math skills to do her work, had caught me in the park at daytime. We argued over the same matter for a ride, and I- all but fighting with tooth and nail- conceded to his concern for my safety.

This time, I wasn't giving him the option to cart me around. Not with my sibling's usual threat stalking circles over my head.

"No worries!" I shouted to him, voice reverberating in a fading echo, before I disappeared from sight.

* * *

It was at midway point, twenty minutes later, in the barely lighted section between the far depths of the immense park and its entrance that I noticed something.

Everything had gone quiet.

There were the fabricated sounds, of course, sirens wailing in the distance where the tall city lights illuminated the nightly world over the park's treetops, the droning of hovercars rushing by in their lanes, but in general, human. The absolute lack of sound directly in the park is what made fear stir to cause my heart to violently contract and increase in tempo. None of the Mudkig dogs who preferred refuge here barked with their strange coughing cackle, no Falbo bats buzzed overhead with scaly wings and shrill songs seeking insects, or blue tails hooted in the trees, hell, not even the constant chirping of creeper crickets sang in the swaying blades of grass.

Hungry blood sucking bugs were abundant, but all nocturnal creatures were in a complete unison of hush.

Wind moaned and sent the branches rustling. In unbroken silence, it was disturbingly eerie. I shuffled quickly under the nearest white cone-like beam glaring down a shiver moth filled light on the stone walk-only pathway. To the clogging shadows surrounding me, desperate eyes fled. This situation felt horrendously familiar, yet nothing, nothing at all stood out of the ordinary. That scared me more then anything. As if my back were under assault from hungry maws full of silver teeth, I found my neck continually straining to pivot to watch.

Just as breathing had seemingly reached a point until merely controlled gasps were the final option for air, a sound broke my fear and redoubled it. My head swung in the direction, taxing wide eyes to locate the disturbance. Laid bare, the patch of terror grew under the influence of ignorance, and was besotted in the water of nameless, apparitions of memories I no longer recognized.

I should've accepted the fucking-

Something rough seized my upper arm and encircled it in a bruising grip.

* * *

**-Claimer-**

**©2009 Sonsasu The Winter Dragon owns the original aspects of Silence or Lies as a whole**

**-Disclaimer-**

**However, I own nothing of the Aliens or Predator franchise**

* * *

**A.N.**

**Alright, I must ask you, my dear readers/reviewers to not demand and or ask for updates. Asking/demanding me to do so will cause the new chapters to come painfully slow. I dislike being ordered to do something, and to hear it repeatedly...well, please just don't ask/demand/beg for them.**

**Thank you.**


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